


Gay Wizard Seeks Same

by EntreNous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Blind Date, M/M, Personal Ads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-18
Updated: 2009-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn't looking for a relationship.  But at the urging of his friends he may have found one in the pages of <i>The Quibbler</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gay Wizard Seeks Same

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2009 HP-Cross-Fest.

"Now, what do you want it to say, Harry?" Hermione asked briskly. She sat at the tall occasional table in Harry's den, using the small surface as best she could in place of a desk.

Harry took a deep breath, but he could think of no way to avoid starting. "Gay wizard seeks same," he began.

"Well, obviously you seek the same," commented Ron from over on the lounge, his long legs stretched the length of it. "Can't imagine a gay wizard wants to find a witch with big--"

Hermione shot him a disgusted look.

"Vaults," Ron finished in a small voice.

"They all start like that," Harry said irritably. "'Gay wizard seeks same' if they're wizards, or 'gay male seeks same' for Muggles."

Ron scratched his neck as he considered this. "Don't you want yours to stand out? Begin with something to show you're special?"

"Not particularly," Harry muttered. He had enough to handle from those who assumed he preferred women -- too many witches flirting with him, contacting him, and asking his friends if they might meet him, all because of his reputation. No doubt if he tried to claim he was "special" when attempting to meet a man, he would find the same sorts of people, just wizards rather than witches.

The whole process seemed so tiresome and ridiculous that Harry preferred not to deal with the issue at all. So he simply didn't look for prospective romance with anyone who would know the first thing about him. When he approached men or responded to their interest, it was usually at a Muggle club or pub for gays. At those places, no one knew who Harry Potter was besides a decent-looking bloke who was up for a laugh or two and a trip to the back room before the night was over.

With those sorts of men, though, anything more permanent was out of the question. Thinking of how to explain magic or his complicated role within the world he lived made his head ache. No, better to just have fun and experience what so many Muggle men he met appeared to prefer: quick encounters, first names only, moments of pleasure as an escape instead of a search for something ongoing.

But Ron and Hermione weren't satisfied with Harry's vague reports that yes, he was meeting men occasionally and having a good time. They kept asking him to bring one of the men he liked round to their place for dinner or to some of the larger parties at the Burrow. Harry made excuses time and again. They didn't seem to get the hint, however, and kept issuing invitations for any of his "special friends," as Hermione liked to call them, like clockwork.

Finally one day as they were shrugging on their coats at work, Ron asked in exasperation, "Don't you think any of the blokes you spend time with would like us? We're not that awful, you know!"

"It's not that at all," Harry had said quickly.

"What else could it be?" Ron looked determined, a sure sign that Hermione had put him up to asking especially. "Have you _asked_ any of them if they might want to meet your mates?"

Harry shrugged. But somehow when he opened his mouth to make another excuse, he found he couldn't. "It doesn't really come up in the space of a few hours," he said finally.

"What do you mean, it doesn't -- oh!" Ron's mouth fell open. His wide blue eyes and round "o" of a mouth were so comical that Harry had to laugh.

"So not really -- not more than a night, then, if that?" Ron asked, his voice breaking.

Harry's grin faded. "Once in a while it's more. But not often."

The tips of Ron's ears went scarlet. Just when Harry was about to insist he was fine, really, and Ron shouldn't give it another thought, Ron asked bluntly, "Don't you get lonely?"

"Well. I have you and Hermione, don't I?" Harry looked away. "And I don't mind staying home evenings, or having the weekends to myself most of the time. I get caught up on a lot of paperwork that way. Truthfully, I work late enough that I hardly notice. It's better, really, especially if I want to advance."

Lots of Aurors did work late on occasion, after all. Their superiors, however, constantly reminded them to cultivate a life and relationships outside their work. Harry could practically see that oft-repeated speech playing through Ron's mind as he thought.

"Guess that's all right then," Ron had answered after a short but uncomfortable silence. They had parted ways after an awkward goodbye, and Harry forced the matter from his mind.

But obviously it wasn't all right with Hermione when she heard about Ron's conversation with Harry.

"Harry, you can't do this to yourself, just have all these meaningless flings without the prospect of anything else. You deserve so much more!" Hermione had pleaded with him by Floo the following morning.

Harry rubbed at his eyes and sighed. He was still in his pyjama bottoms and a threadbare t-shirt, kneeling in front of the fireplace and thinking longingly of his mug of tea growing cold in the kitchen. Hermione had obviously dressed at some ungodly hour in order to call him as early as possible to raise her concerns. "It's fine, truly."

"It is not fine," she said. Even with her head in the flames, Harry could see her cheeks were flushed with determination. "Oh, I suppose it was all right at the start, when you were figuring out what you wanted. But now you know you like men; wouldn't you like to be with someone you can do…a variety of things with?"

"I suppose--"

"Don't you want someone who will support you and be at your side?"

"Well, obviously I--"

"Can't you see the advantages of finding someone whose company you enjoy, who you can really depend upon?"

"Hermione, just listen--"

"Life isn't all about sex, Harry."

He gaped at her. "I've got to get ready for work."

"We're not through speaking about this," she had warned him as he got up and stalked away.

Unfortunately Hermione was as good as her word. Since that time Harry had been subjected to several lunches alone with her (at which she sympathized with his situation over fish and chips and spoke extensively of how much better his life would be with someone permanent in it), as well as a number of pub nights with her and Ron together (where she enumerated the many advantages of a long-term relationship, often using herself and Ron as examples while Ron stared uncomfortably at his pint).

Then, weeks after his initial conversation with Ron, Hermione's tactical manoeuvres took shape. When she had discovered _The Quibbler_ ran a personals section at the backs of their issues, she settled on that as their answer.

First she merely suggested Harry consider the option, sometimes leaving copies folded down to the personals section strewn about her sitting room when he visited, and later surprising him with his own subscription to _The Quibbler_ when he did not immediately take the hint. When that gave her no satisfaction, she took to recommending strongly he place an ad for the upcoming issue, sending him brief reminders of the upcoming deadline by owl and even dropping off a calendar at his place with the submission date circled multiple times in red. At last, when he still had made no move, she threatened to run an advertisement herself if he didn't place one as soon as possible.

With no relief in sight, Harry finally agreed to let her and Ron help him make up an ad.  
They had arrived that morning as arranged, bearing hot coffee and scones, several back issues of _The Quibbler_ , and a stack of parchment so they could compose the perfect advertisement.

"Ron really is right, though," Hermione began, startling Harry back to attention by tapping her quill against the table pointedly as she spoke. "You should be specific in what sorts of things you're looking for, what you might like in a person. Don't go only by what you've seen in the other advertisements."

Harry bit his lip as he thought. "How about, 'should not place value on status or money'?"

"Is that the most important thing?" Hermione asked. "The item you want to mention first?" Her sceptical look told him she did not think it was.

He cleared his throat. "Erm. Perhaps you should write 'Should be discreet' early on?" If he could fend off anyone eyeing the descriptions in search of partners with fame and fortune, so much the better.

"That's more about what you don't want, though," Ron pointed out.

"Yes, I think you should start with things you enjoy," began Hermione. "Long walks on the beach, that sort of thing."

" _Do_ you like long walks on the beach?" Ron asked Harry with some interest.

"Dunno. I never really thought about it before."

"What about, 'Appreciates quiet dinners for two'; or, 'Looking to connect in a meaningful way with a potential life-long partner'?"

Harry pulled a face. "I don't want to sound odd."

"Don't say either of those things, then," advised Ron under his breath.

"There must be _something_ specific we can put. Should we say the man who answers the ad must like Quidditch?" Hermione asked.

"Everyone likes Quidditch," Ron said dismissively.

"What _do_ people write, then?" asked Hermione in exasperation, pulling the latest _Quibbler_ toward her and scanning the back pages.

Harry and Ron watched her for a time, waiting as she frowned and jotted down notes. At first they exchanged shrugs and glances as Hermione became more and more immersed in her work. But eventually they launched into a conversation about the Cannon's chances that season, and whether or not they ought to get season tickets.

"We had a fantastic time last year, didn't we?"

"Didn't miss a match," Ron put in with a grin. Then he frowned. "And they didn't win once."

"So?"

"Do you think maybe I'm a jinx to the team?" Ron's expression was all anxiety.

Harry laughed. "You can't be serious."

"There must be some connection! After all, what other team lost every single time last year?"

"Well, none of them, I think."

"You see? I went to all the matches, even the exhibition ones in Wales and Bulgaria they were trounced at." Ron groaned, letting his head fall into his hands.

"Look, if the Cannons need anything, it's support from their fans," Harry argued. "And who is a more loyal fan than you?"

"No one," Ron said glumly. "Still, I wonder --"

"There seems to be an awful lot about cocks," Hermione broke in.

Both Ron and Harry jumped.

"What?" Ron asked weakly.

"Cocks," Hermione repeated, her eyes still glued to the page. "How big they are, or what they can do. But those aren't the sorts of ads we want to emulate; not if we hope to find a real relationship for Harry, so I've marked them all out."

Harry swore under his breath. Not that he wanted only to have lots of meaningless meetings with wizards that were only about sex -- though perhaps, wait, didn't he want to have those sorts of meetings after all?

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

She gave him a shrewd look and shook the pages taut with a snap. "You know, Harry, perhaps we've been going about this the wrong way."

"We have?" Harry tried not to sound too hopeful. Still, maybe Hermione had finally realized she should just leave him be to do what he liked with the men he met casually instead of pressuring him to find a serious boyfriend based on a hundred-word-or-less personal ad.

"Yes. Instead of placing your own ad, which obviously isn't going to work at all, we should answer one of the ads already here."

"Oh." Harry tried to sink inconspicuously back into his chair. "Well. I don't really need your help for that, do I? I can just look at them myself."

Hermione snorted. "Trust me, Harry, you need our help."

 

 

***~***

 

 

Three hours later, they had eliminated most of the advertisements from consideration.

"Too clingy," Harry shuddered at an ad that went on about how wonderful it was to need another person.

"Too creepy," Ron declared at an ad that suggested the placer's ideal man would share a fondness for giant squids.

"Too money grubbing," Harry and Ron said together at one that featured a self-confessed poor student looking for a cultured man "to help him experience life."

"Too keen on public life for Harry," Hermione admitted at an ad that spoke of seeking a partner to accompany the man to Ministry galas.

"Too desperate for someone to settle down," Ron remarked in a low voice at the one that went on about finding a mate interested in raising at least seven or eight children together.

"Far too focused on looks," Hermione pronounced at a number of ads, all extolling the incredible handsomeness of the men placing them.

"Harry's not bad looking," Ron said diplomatically after a number of these had been rejected. "That man might think he's all right."

"Thanks so much," Harry said with a scowl.

"Not _Harry_ ," Hermione corrected. "Harry is quite cute. It just means that the men placing those ads are shallow, too keen on appearance. I mean, this one just goes on and on about how good looking he is."

"Can't he be good looking?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed. "That's not the point."

"What is the point?" Ron asked. "Because it's gone half five, and I'd like to propose we finish soon so as not to delay supper."

They bickered back and forth over the remaining ads, striking out one after another with Hermione's quill.

"That's all of them, then," Harry said at last after he read out one last advertisement. He felt an odd sinking feeling in his stomach. Of course he hadn't wanted to do this in the first place, either the pushing for a relationship or the attempt to find one through personal ads. But as the afternoon had gone on, he had found himself wondering...maybe he would find someone. Not necessarily for an ever-after, but someone he could see apart from a grope or blow job in a club. Someone he could go to the cinema with, or introduce to his friends. It wouldn't be so bad, would it?

Now that they had reached the end of the possibilities...well, it wasn't as if there wouldn't be more ads another week, he told himself. Still, that sensation that he had exhausted his chances, that there really wasn't anyone he could be matched with out there, made him feel slightly ill.

"Wait," Ron said a moment after he took the _Quibbler_ from Harry. He had been about to toss it in the direction of the bin when the pages fell open. "There's a page we missed." He thumbed apart two pages that had appeared to be one. "I think it got stuck to another one with some of the sugar from the scones."

"That's really unlikely, Ron," Hermione huffed (she had been the main one to nibble scones while turning pages). "It's probably stuck due to poor publication values; this is the _Quibbler_ we're talking about."

"Well, anyway, there's one more."

"One more page? Or one more advertisement?" Harry asked.

"One last personal ad on one last page." Ron shook out the issue and read aloud:

>   
> _Sophisticated wizard, handsome, professional, with sartorial elegance and seductive voice to match, seeks not the same but a counterpart: rumpled younger wizard finding out what he wants in his work, in his life, in himself. Should desire engaging conversations, entertaining outings, intimate nights at home, and brilliant, mind-blowing, fantastic sex -- not just a man who wants those things, but one willing to work for them. Reply if you've had enough of one night stands, and you're ready to find out what it's like to build a relationship with a man who knows exactly what he wants._

Ron looked up with wide eyes.

"That's...well," Hermione said, stroking her throat. "That's quite..."

"Rumpled -- that's you all over, mate," Ron observed. "And younger, and seeking, all of that."

"Read it again," Harry said in a daze, and listened as Ron did.

"Do you think he really is all he says, handsome and all that?" Ron asked. "He could well be stretching the truth."

Hermione tilted her head to the side, looking thoughtful. "It has none of the ridiculousness or bravado of those other ones, just confidence and poise. I'd wager yes, the man who wrote this really does know what he wants, and does offer at least some of what he writes here."

"Yeah." Harry took the _Quibbler_ away from Ron and stared at the advertisement. "Yeah. He sounds...yeah." He swallowed. All of it sounded brilliant, though it was hard for his mind to get past the bit about the sex. "He sounds really, really good."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

"Best let us help you put together a reply," Hermione suggested delicately.

"After we've eaten," Ron decided. "I can't come up with a proper answer when I'm this starved."

 

 

***~***

 

 

Harry barely remembered what had gone into the reply, just that Hermione had laboured over the response, that Ron had argued with her until it "actually sounds like Harry wrote it himself," and that both of them had insisted on sending it off right then lest Harry change his mind.

He wouldn't have changed his mind, though, Harry thought, not after the impression the advertisement had made on him. Even with his head aching and eyes stinging from thinking about and reading over far too many ads, the final one had stood out entirely, the description of something he had wanted very much for quite a long time, but had never known existed until he heard it described.

Once the response had gone off (addressed to an anonymous box at the Hogsmeade Post Office, as all _Quibbler_ ad replies were), Harry felt vastly relieved. At least it was done. And maybe, just maybe, he and this man would actually meet, and...well, then he would see, wouldn't he?

Even if nothing happened, at least it would get Hermione to leave off nagging him for a time.

Not an hour after Hermione and Ron left, Harry was hit by a wave of anxiety. What if he never heard anything back in reply, waiting weeks and weeks with no answer? He would probably go spare. What if the man turned out to be amazing, fantastic, but could tell from Harry's letter that Harry was completely uninteresting and not at all good looking and probably terrible in bed?

He might very well be terrible in bed, Harry thought with no small panic as he paced the floorboards of his bedroom. It wasn't as if he had ever really been in a _bed_ with another man (lounges and chairs and floors of clubs just didn't count).

As he sat, wide awake and bleary in the small hours of the morning over a mug of tepid tea, an even worse thought occurred to him: what if, when he failed to produce an older and sophisticated wizard of a boyfriend for Hermione's inspection, he was forced to go through the whole horrible process again?

He had to drag himself into work the next morning. The entire day passed in a blur. Thankfully he and Ron weren't due to anywhere in particular for meetings or surveillance. They had a considerable amount of paperwork to finish after their last operation had been completed, so at least Harry could stare unseeing at the stacks of parchment piled between them without arousing anyone's notice.

That night he arrived home, let his stack of files fall to the floor, and slouched toward the kitchen, planning to eat something simple and then go straight to bed. With any luck his exhaustion would stop his worries from creeping back into his thoughts, and he could catch up on the sleep he had missed the night before.

When he entered the kitchen, however, he discovered a handsome Eagle Owl preening his feathers on the windowsill.

"Stay right there," he ordered the owl, rummaging for treats. It stuck out its leg at him impatiently. At last he found a few morsels to feed it and untied the note attached to it with trembling hands.

It was from the man in the advertisement -- Harry felt a bit queasy as he read the elegantly scrawled words.

> _I was pleased to get your reply to my advertisement yesterday. I could suggest we correspond for a time, and get to know one another that way. But why not meet instead and learn whether we are suited to one another in person? If you're agreeable, I know of an excellent caf é not too far from Diagon Alley --_

Harry blinked, letting the note flutter to the table. The caf &eacute's name and address were scrawled at the bottom of the parchment with the suggested date and time -- two days hence for dinner.

Harry stared at the script as he thought, absently petting the owl, who had hopped up on his shoulder. He glanced up to see the owl examining him with interest.

"I'll give you my reply; can it reach him that way? Will you take it to him?"

The owl hooted softly.

"Are you his?" Harry asked. "Is there some way to tell -- I mean, two more days, the waiting might do me in. " He laughed, and let his fingertips trace the cursive letters. "I wonder if there's a way to follow you if I grab my broom--"

The owl nipped disapprovingly at his ear.

"All right, all right," Harry said, aggrieved, shooing at the bird until it gave a last hoot and flew out the window. "Two more days," he said to himself, picking up the note and securing it in a cabinet in which he kept important papers. "I can obviously wait two days. Most likely."

 

 

***~***

 

 

His outfit had been vetted by Hermione.

"We want you to look appealing, playing up that younger angle, obviously." She brushed some invisible lint off the side of his trousers, making him jump. "But we don't want you to look like a teenager." She frowned, adjusting the collar of his shirt and then trying one last time to smooth his hair. "There's rumpled, and then there's completely unkempt."

"I don't look that bad," Harry argued.

"No." She sighed. "You look all right. I suppose there's nothing more I can do."

With that encouraging declaration, and Ron's surprisingly paternal advice to "have fun, but not _too_ much fun," Harry had departed for the address written on the now crumpled and worn note.

He arrived early. The meeting was on the later side for dinner, but as that meant there were fewer diners crowding the small caf &eacute and hardly any people lingering at the bar, Harry found he didn't much mind. Once he ordered a bottle of wine and explained he was waiting for someone, the server thankfully left him alone.

It had begun to drizzle outside, and Harry turned slightly to watch the rain fall. The small distraction was welcome; he didn't want to keep glancing at his watch, wondering if his mystery man was going to show.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" One of the men from the bar had approached the table. His voice was low and melodious, sending a frisson through Harry.

Harry turned to discourage the come on, ready to explain he was waiting for someone. But when he saw who it was, his lips parted in surprise. "Minister Shacklebolt," he said at last to the other man. "How are you?"

"I'm well, though I didn't realize we were on such formal terms, Harry. It's Kingsley, of course." Kingsley seated himself smoothly. The candlelight on the walls glinted off the gold ring in his ear.

For some reason, Harry shivered. "Of course, I should have -- Kingsley." He cleared his throat, unsure how to handle this unexpected meeting. "It's nice to see you outside the Ministry," he said at last. "I should say, though, I'm meeting someone --"

Kingsley leaned forward, the corners of his mouth quirking in a smile. "Are you?"

Moments passed. Harry stared. "You?" he asked in shock.

"Do you mind?" Kingsley asked, gesturing toward the wine. When Harry shook his head slowly, Kingsley poured himself a glass. "Not bad at all," he said after sampling some.

"It's the one wine I know," Harry blurted out. "I mean, that is, a clerk at a shop recommended it to me, Hermione said it was good, and I've been ordering it at restaurants and bringing it to dinners at homes ever since."

"A good strategy," Kingsley commented. He took another sip of the wine. "It's a solid choice." When he swallowed, Harry couldn't help but watch his Adam's apple work against his sleek throat. "I appreciate a man who is loyal to what works for him."

Harry licked his lips and glanced down at Kingsley's elegant hands, at the carefully crafted buttons on Kingsley's fine suit, at the strangely alluring sheen of Kingsley's smooth head. He had never thought for a moment that the advertisement might have been placed by someone he knew, much less by Kingsley Shacklebolt. Kingsley didn't seem the type of man to have to place a personal ad; he was so handsome and charismatic, and that voice of his --

It was all putting Harry in mind of the advertising's wording, the mention of the "sartorial elegance" and "seductive voice"; yes, he thought to himself, he was willing to say Hermione had wagered correctly. Kingsley had indeed represented himself very well.

Of course, thinking of that also put Harry in mind of the ad's mention of "brilliant, mind-blowing, fantastic sex." He shifted slightly in his seat, hoping his expression didn't betray his thoughts.

"This is --" Harry paused. Kingsley waited for him to continue. It all felt quite surreal, suddenly. "Do you still want to -- that is -- I mean, it's _me_." He wasn't certain what he meant, just that Kingsley had known him since he was a gawky, sullen teenager, and Kingsley a high-ranking Auror and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. While it was true that he had never really thought of Kingsley in precisely a romantic way before, it was mostly because Kingsley seemed someone miles beyond what Harry could hope for. It wasn't just that he was older, or that now he was the Minister of Magic, it was that he was...well, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

And now sitting here, drinking wine with him as though this was a normal date and a real chance for a romantic connection, Harry couldn't help but remind his companion who exactly was sitting across the table from him.

"I do in fact realize that it is you," Kingsley said mildly. He turned the menu the server had left on the table toward Harry. "Have you thought about what you might order? They do a lovely breast of duck here. I also recommend the cod. It's exceptional."

"Oh, erm --" And then the conversation turned to talk of starters and the special offerings of the night and the possibility of ordering another bottle of wine.

They were most of the way through their meal when it occurred to Harry that they hadn't really addressed the issue at hand: they were here together on a _date_. True, he was having a great time -- Kingsley seemed to know how to draw out Harry's interests in naturally and gradually, inquiring about his friends and life with an easy grace. But he also offered his own anecdotes and mixed his questions with intriguing details about himself. Harry never felt on the spot or as if he was the one forced to do all the talking. It was surprising how well they got on, but it was definitely enjoyable.

Still, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Kingsley was managing the conversation so deftly because he was being polite. If it was still a date, rather than two men who knew one another already meeting, wouldn't there be more...Harry wasn't sure exactly what. Talk of romance? Questions about past experiences? He didn't know what to expect, really. Dates seemed like they should be more awkward, more concerned with determining likes and dislikes and compatibility. They probably weren't supposed to be so comfortable and easy, were they?

Then again, he did already know Kingsley. It was all quite confusing.

They closed out the meal with a few excellent brandies. By that time most of the clientele had departed, and the servers were grouped around a small table in the back, folding serviettes and chattering.

"Shall I see you home?" Kingsley asked. He had paid for everything somehow already without Harry having an opportunity to offer any money.

"Oh, you don't have to do that." Harry stood, feeling very awkward indeed.

"I don't mind."

"All right. It's not far," Harry assured him.

They walked the blocks together easily enough, chatting about this and that. But again Harry felt confused about in what direction exactly the evening had gone. It wasn't as though Kingsley had immediately asked to see him again, or given him a kind of signal like brushing their hands together or sliding his hand up Harry's thigh, or --

Harry sighed as they turned the corner. He was so accustomed to the cocky smiles and suggestive words and, well, gropes, at the places where he usually met men. But obviously those signals ended in quick encounters, not relationships. He supposed Ron's exhortation to "have fun, but not too much fun," had been to remind him he was navigating different waters with this whole dating process. The rules were probably completely different, but Harry hadn't a clue how to determine what they actually were.

"Thank you for tonight," Kingsley said quietly when Harry slowed at the door to his building. The area was quiet generally. Now that the rain had stopped and it had grown late it was a bit misty and dream-like on the hushed street.

"Yeah. I mean, thank you. I enjoyed it. I hope you had a good time. I mean, I don't know -- thanks," Harry stopped, suddenly feeling more confused than ever. He felt slightly dazed from the wine and the brandy, and he blinked up at Kingsley, wondering why he hadn't remembered before how very tall Kingsley was.

When Kingsley raised his hand and traced along Harry's jaw with his fingertips, Harry drew in a sharp breath.

"Can I kiss you?"

Harry tried not to gape or stumble. "Uh -- okay --"

Most of the men Harry was with weren't particularly interested in kissing. If they did it at all, they were perfunctory about it as a means to get on with other things.

But Kingsley kissed as though he very much enjoyed it, brushing his lips against Harry's at first as if to get a feel for their mouths meeting before deepening the contact and sliding his fingers and palm to cradle the back of Harry's neck.

Harry shivered, and Kingsley's other hand went to the small of his back, rubbing there as he drew him closer.

Just as the kiss grew more heated, and Harry was wondering wildly how much fun was _too_ much fun to have on a first date, and whether he really had to tell anyone at all that he'd asked Kingsley Shacklebolt up to his flat when they had only had dinner once, Kingsley stepped back.

"Goodnight." He gave Harry a small bow, and walked away.

Harry touched his lips with his fingers, standing and watching the direction Kingsley had taken for some time. Then, feeling silly, he finally went upstairs to try to sleep and curse the various ridiculous things he had probably said during the evening.

 

 

***~***

 

 

The next day was very strange. Harry went to work as usual, but he was a bundle of nerves. He was so nervous about hearing from Kingsley that he tackled the huge pile of paperwork he and Ron had outstanding and completed nearly the entire thing before Ron's wide eyes.

It was one thing to wait anxiously to hear from someone after a first date, Harry thought. But to know that Kingsley was in the same _building_ as Harry was almost too much to bear. He was jumpy whenever someone spoke to him, snapped at a few of the other junior Aurors when they discussed an upcoming meeting, and scowled whenever anyone looked in his direction for too long.

The minutes ticked by very slowly. A thousand times Harry caught himself wondering if he ought to wander over in the direction of the Minister of magic's offices, just to see if he might run into Kingsley, or inquire here or there what Kingsley's agenda was for the day. But no, he didn't want to seem desperate or demanding.

He only managed to restrain himself by focusing on deterring Ron from learning any real details about his date.

"But what was his name?" Ron hissed whenever they had a moment alone. "What was he like? Do you think you'll see him again? You didn't do anything too -- well, _you know_ , did you, because--"

"I'll tell you all about it later," Harry cut him off time and again.

He finally ducked down a hallway to escape Ron's pointed questions. While there, he ran into Honorah Quinn, who worked on the team running the Minister's schedule. As he was working up an appropriate excuse to quiz her, she said unexpectedly, "Minister Shacklebolt asked to see you -- I was just coming to find you."

"He asked to see me?" Harry repeated, his cheeks flushing.

"Immediately, Auror Potter," she said, and turned away, already focusing her attention on another task.

Harry slipped into the lavatory to make sure he didn't look too awful, and spent a moment splashing water on his face and trying to get his hair to look less wild. Then he darted out, almost breaking into a run as he hurried toward Kingsley's offices.

When he arrived, however, he found Ron already waiting in the anteroom, flipping idly through a copy of _Witch Weekly_.

"What are you doing here?" Harry blurted.

Ron looked at him like he was mental. "Kingsley -- I mean, Minister Shacklebolt," he corrected himself, rolling his eyes. "Here to meet with him. I suppose you know all about it as you're here as well."

"Right. 'Course." Harry tugged down the sleeves of his robes so as to occupy his trembling hands. "I know -- right."

"You feel all right, mate?" Ron examined him doubtfully.

"Wonderful," Harry muttered.

"Gentlemen." One of their superiors, Jenkins, materialized nearby, his young assistant hurrying in his wake. "Is the Minister ready to see us?"

There was a soft sound, a signal for the assistants in the anteroom.

"You may go in now." The one who beckoned them onward didn't even look up from her files.

Harry gestured for Jenkins to go first, and then waved Ron in ahead of him before trailing them inside.

"Thank you all for taking time out of your day to meet with me so unexpectedly." Kingsley's voice was just as deep and smooth as it had been at the restaurant. Harry felt a tingling shiver run up his back.

"I presume we're here to speak of the recent discoveries in the da Silva case?" Jenkins asked, puffing himself up.

"Exactly so. Please, sit down." Kingsley gave each of them a small nod, and they began the meeting.

Harry barely heard a word that was said. He felt his gaze being drawn back again and again to Kingsley's mouth, thinking how those lips had actually touched his own the day before. Every time Kingsley spoke, Harry had to clear his throat or swallow, remembering those moments before they parted ways the night before.

Ron shot him a funny look now and again, obviously not convinced that Harry was in his right mind. But luckily Jenkins seemed oblivious to Harry's distraction.

Throughout it all Kingsley's expression was perfectly composed and focused. He listened patiently to the updates about the latest threats against the prominent da Silva family. Though Harry couldn't process the exchanges going on around him, he could tell Kingsley asked insightful questions from the way Ron and Jenkins reacted.

At last the meeting was concluded. Harry faltered at the door, uncertain whether to leave as quickly as possible or let the others leave so he could stay behind and say -- what, exactly? That he had hoped the entire meeting a ruse so Kingsley could talk to him, maybe even kiss him? That he had fairly run through the halls just because someone had said Kingsley wanted to see him?

He felt utterly stupid as Jenkins laughed at something Kingsley said, and the urge to slip away won out. He edged forward.

"Potter, wait please," Kingsley said calmly just as Harry was over the threshold.

"Later, mate," he heard Ron say, though his voice sounded muffled because of the extraordinarily loud thumping in Harry's chest.

"Auror Potter," Jenkins said importantly as he bustled off, barking orders at his assistant as soon as he was in the antechamber.

Harry did an awkward backward shuffle into the office, and cleared his throat.

"Close the door, if you would."

"Yeah, okay." Harry turned the handle and paused, still angled toward the door.

"Potter. Harry. You should know, I didn't call this meeting just so that I might see you," Kingsley began.

All at once Harry's stomach roiled. Of course -- yesterday he had acted ridiculously, had embarrassed himself and made Kingsley completely uninterested in dealing with him. He'd probably made a fool of himself at dinner, and then the way he'd lunged at Kingsley when Kingsley kissed him -- he shuddered. Clearly the meeting hadn't been an excuse to see him at all; it was a means to break off what little had begun between them as painlessly as possible.

"Though of course it's a wonderful benefit, getting to see you," Kingsley continued, and Harry turned, surprised to find him smiling.

"You didn't think I would make up excuses for meetings just to see you, did you?" Kingsley asked, amused, seemingly mistaking Harry's expression for one of disbelief. "However I might like to, especially with this result, I don't intend to abuse my position as Minister of Magic in any way because of what might be going on between us."

Harry coughed. "Erm." Kingsley had wanted to see him, then. That seemed the most important point.

Kingsley stroked his chin, as though something had just occurred to him. "You know, though, now that you _are_ here...I'm finding it a terribly convenient time to ask if I can make you dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yes. Tonight, at my flat, if you're free." Kingsley leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "I'm sure I should wait to ask you, or inquire if you can come next week instead of tonight, but --"

"I'm free tonight," Harry said, so quickly that Kingsley laughed aloud.

"Excellent. Seven o'clock, if that's all right." He held out a scrap of parchment, and Harry walked forward numbly to take it. "My address," Kingsley offered when Harry kept staring at him rather than looking at what was scribbled on the note.

"Great. I'll just -- then..." Harry stumbled toward the door. "Thanks," he remembered to call in through the partially opened door before he closed it again.

He tried to compose himself as he came back to the corridor, smoothing his robes and attempting to catch his breath. But he jumped, startled, when Ron fell into step beside him.

"So Kingsley was the man from the advert, then, wasn't he?" Ron asked casually.

"I never said --"

"Come on, Harry. I might not be the smartest wizard you know, but I'm not stupid."

Harry pulled him toward a quiet corner. "Don't tell Hermione yet."

"Why not? She'll be thrilled --"

"Just -- not yet."

Ron gazed at him. "All right. But when she does figure it out -- expect dinner invitations for two to rain down on your untidy head."

 

 

***~***

 

 

Harry found Kingsley's flat without much trouble. Kingsley welcomed him in at once, explaining he was still preparing dinner and asking Harry to follow him into the kitchen.

At first Harry stood about awkwardly. But as Kingsley poured him a glass of wine and they began to speak about various topics, like how they both wished they had more time to travel, or the dreadful luncheon places near the Ministry, he relaxed. By the time Kingsley was stirring what he said was the final component of the meal, Harry had levered himself to sit atop one of the kitchen counters, leaning back against the cabinets comfortably with his drink as though he were at a mate's house.

"There. That will take a short while longer." Kingsley covered the saucepan and turned. He walked closer, and Harry froze, his glass of wine midway to his lips. With a fluid gesture, Kingsley took the wine glass and set it aside, stepping forward in between Harry's parted knees.

Kingsley smiled, all of a sudden quite close and smelling wonderfully like the savoury dishes he was preparing. "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, please," Harry said breathlessly, and then swore at himself for sounding ridiculous.

But Kingsley only laughed, cupping Harry's jaw in his palm before bringing their mouths together. "I've been wanting to do this all day," he whispered.

Before long, Harry scooted closer, wrapping his arms around Kingsley as they continued to kiss.

"You're really very good at this," Kingsley murmured against Harry's lips, never breaking contact entirely.

"It's a particular talent of mine," Harry joked, but his heart soared at the praise.

"I find you," Kingsley said softly, starting to kiss his way down Harry's throat, "Utterly charming. Completely fascinating."

"Don't hold back; tell me how you really feel," Harry breathed. He stopped worrying that Kingsley would be able to feel his heart pounding a rapid tattoo and shifted even closer, going so far as to hook his right leg to draw Kingsley in.

"You might tell me something about how you feel about me," Kingsley suggested, unbuttoning the top few buttons of Harry's shirt before nuzzling his collarbone. His hips tilted forward and back very slowly in a torturously leisurely grind.

"I think you're incredibly sexy," Harry panted out. "I can't believe you're actually interested in me, and I love how you're touching me, and I think your sauce is going to boil over."

Kingsley laughed. "It will be fine."

"You have some kind of -- oh, oh, that's nice -- stasis charm on it?" Harry clutched Kingsley's gorgeous smooth head as Kingsley bit lightly at the jointure of his shoulder and neck.

"No," Kingsley murmured. "I have it on a low simmer."

After that things progressed rather rapidly, with Harry forgetting all about the state of the sauce as they stumbled, still kissing, into Kingsley's bedroom.

"Can I--" Harry stammered as he fumbled with the buttons on Kingsley's trousers.

"I really wish you would," Kingsley urged him, flicking his tongue into Harry's ear and consequently making his legs give out.

With the last pull of Harry's t-shirt over his head and a final shimmy up toward the headboard of the bed, they were naked at last. Harry gasped at every touch of smooth skin even before Kingsley wrapped his capable fingers around Harry's cock and stroked. All those experiences in dark corners with men had entailed trousers and pants open or shirts undone, but this was the first time Harry had been completely unclothed in front of a partner. He couldn't get enough of it, rubbing his entire body against Kingsley's like a cat, licking and biting and lipping at whatever skin he could reach.

"I'm afraid this can't wait much longer," Kingsley said gravely before rolling on top of him, bringing their cocks to rub against each other with the most delicious friction Harry had ever felt.

"No need to -- oh _fuck_ \-- stand on ceremony," Harry got out.

"Glad I have your permission."

They laughed as they moved together, Harry's leg again hooked around Kingsley to bring him closer, his hands clutching at the wonderful muscles flexing in Kingsley's arms as he moved, his head thrown back as sensation after sensation swept through him leaving him weak and exhilarated all at once.

When Harry cried out and came, Kingsley surged forward, kissing the breath from him and drawing out every shudder and spasm with the radiating heat of his body.

"Gorgeous," he murmured as Harry gasped and bucked against him. Then he too juddered his hips forward quickly, moaning as he came.

After, lying on the bed exchanging soft kisses and glancing strokes, Harry said, "I'm afraid your sauce must be well and truly ruined by now."

"That last sauce was mostly for show," Kingsley admitted. "The roast is in the oven, and doesn't need much tending at all."

Harry snorted. "That's all right, then."

"Mmm." As they laid facing one another, Kingsley caressed Harry's skin, sweeping his hand up and down his hip, massaging his back, and, almost as an afterthought, trailing along the curves of his arse.

Harry shivered, but he moved closer.

"I don't mean to pry. But I did wonder --"

"I've never -- I mean, I've done lots of other things -- not that I've done _lots_ of things," Harry hurried to add, growing increasingly alarmed that Kingsley would think he was a bit of a slut.

Kingsley laughed. "I'm not going to interrogate you or make judgments, Harry. Whoever you've been with before now is your business. Though, I should tell you," he added, switching to massage Harry's chest, "that if we continue on like this, I don't share. Not at all."

"That's -- I don't mind. I've never really...had that, either, but I think I'd prefer it."

"That works both ways, of course. I wouldn't be with anyone but you."

"Well, that's as it should be, obviously."

They both snickered. Kingsley reached back to pet Harry's arse again before pausing to dip his finger along the crease, caressing there in light touches until Harry's breath caught.

"I don't want to rush you in the slightest. Really, if you haven't done it before, we should wait." Kingsley rubbed a small circle around that sensitive opening and Harry's hips jerked forward involuntarily. "But I would very much like to be the first man to fuck you."

"I think -- probably -- well --" Harry choked out.

Before long Kingsley pulled him close, and they moved together again, with the raw excitement of men learning each other's bodies for the first time.

The roast Kingsley had in the oven burnt to a crisp, and they had to throw on their clothing and dash out for curry take-away.

"What made you decide place an ad at all?" Harry asked at last hours later. They were naked again, lounging on Kingsley's bed with the lights out, blankets strewn about every which way. Kingsley had figured out if he carded his fingers through Harry's hair, Harry would drape himself over Kingsley's chest while emitting blissful moans, while Harry learned when he rubbed Kingsley's smooth head, Kingsley more or less melted against the mattress and gave kisses that were sloppier, wetter, and altogether wonderful.

For the first time since they had spoken the past few days, Harry heard Kingsley hesitate. "I had something in mind, I suppose."

"It's funny, because when Ron read the ad, he really focused on that 'rumpled' bit. Said it was me all over." Harry laughed.

Kingsley paused, then said, "I may have had something quite specific in mind, to be perfectly honest."

Harry swallowed, his mouth all at once having gone dry. "You -- what did you have in mind, exactly?"

Reaching out to tuck a lock of Harry's hair behind his ear, Kingsley observed, "It might be more accurate to ask _who_ I had in mind."

It took a while for the penny to drop. "Me?" Harry squawked at last.

Kingsley nearly choked when he laughed at Harry's surprise. "I've fancied you ever since you started working at the Ministry," he said when he could finally speak clearly.

"Really?"

"Really."

"So why didn't you just -- say something--"

"I wasn't certain you thought you were gay," Kingsley remarked in that slow rich voice of his.

Harry had to laugh. Kingsley obviously had no doubt Harry _was_ gay; he only questioned whether Harry himself knew it.

"So you were hoping to find someone like me by placing an ad in _The Quibbler_?" Harry asked, raising both eyebrows.

"So you tend to pick out personal ads and search for potential relationships with your friends?" Kingsley asked him, arching a single eyebrow in return.

"Just yours," Harry said absently. "It was the only one I've ever answered, the only one of the whole lot that appealed to me, so, mmmph!"

It hardly seemed possible, but Kingsley's kisses got better every time.

Between more bites and licks and enthusiastic fumbling, Harry got out most of the story of Hermione's urgings, Ron's concerns, and the exhausting session with the personal advertisements' section of _The Quibbler_.

"Remind me to thank Hermione when I see her next."

"Oh, she'll remind you herself," Harry laughed as he moved forward for another kiss. "When she makes us both come round for dinner."

"I'd be delighted," Kingsley pronounced, his voice just as seductive as his advert had promised. "But perhaps we'll wait a few more days before we let her begin issuing invitations. Just so that I can finally cook you a proper dinner myself first."

"I'd be delighted," Harry echoed, moving close to drape himself over Kingsley once more.


End file.
